Mother of the Desert
by SerenLyall
Summary: "Oh, child," the desert sighed. "This was not how you should have been welcomed home." But the Skywalker family has been a family of slaves, and even though the desert has favorites, it cannot redirect fate. That is not to say, however, that there is no aid. (A short look at the day Leia spent as Jabba's slave, and an exploration of the Skywalker's bond with the desert.)


**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and all there-related characters, places, and ideas do not belong to me. They belong instead to their respective owners. No money was made from the writing of this.

**Rating/Warnings:** Teen; trigger warnings for: _mentioned_ and _non-explicit _sexual assault, slavery, mature themes.

**Time frame:** a brief glimpse at a sliver of the time Leia spent as Jabba's slave

**Notes:** Please note that "sexual assault" does not necessarily equate rape. I do not believe Leia was raped; I do believe she was more than likely assaulted. Secondly, this fic _does _deal with some mature themes - namely slavery, though as I'm sure you've picked up on, sexual assault is briefly touched upon as well - and as such, I hope you approach the topic explored herein with a due amount of respect and gravity.

That said, I hope you enjoy.

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_Inspired by a post made by tumblr user lectorel, who spoke of Tatooine, and of the slavery parallels between Shmi, Anakin, and Leia.  
From that post, this tale was born._

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***Mother of the Desert***

The moment she opened her eyes, she knew it was a dream.

Great sand dunes met her gaze, pale and searing as the two suns glared down from the white-washed heavens. The air was heavy with the dry, blistering heat, and for an instant, as she took her first breath, the wild thought that she would burn her lungs to cinders and ash flashed through Leia's mind.

She did not burn. She did not even feel the scorching heat of the desert sun. All she felt was the gentle touch of air against her bare arms, bare stomach, bare legs, the invisible shroud formless and without either warmth or cold, without passion or apathy.

Not knowing what else to do, she began to walk toward the nearest sand dune, the ever-practical part of her mind informing her that, when lost and alone, high ground was always optimal. In that moment it did not matter that this was just a dream—that she was not in fact lost, nor that the land she wandered in was no wasteland. All that mattered was the insistent nudge in her thoughts that quietly, but firmly, ordered her toward the top of the nearest dune.

The dune was much farther away than it at first appeared. The air shimmered with heat waves, mirage lakes glimmering here and there mere inches above the sifting earth. Though she felt no heat, was blistered by no ravaging sunlight, as she trudged onwards, Leia could feel her feet beginning to drag, her body protesting the sinking sand, the bright sky, the heat that it knew _should _be there.

She was stumbling by the time she reached the foot of the dune. The suns had not shifted their positions, remaining high in the heavens though surely hours had passed since she had begun her trek, resting easily at their zeniths as they looked down with careless eyes upon the barren world below. Leia staggered, toes sending cascades of sand skittering up the first gentle slope of the dune, and for a moment she nearly collapsed.

The insistent nudge grew stronger, morphing into a persistent prod at the center of her mind, digging into her thoughts like a poisoned thorn until all she could think was, _I must reach the top._

And so she began to climb.

The wind began to rise as she ascended, tugging fitfully at her hair, at the loose, trailing tails of silk clinging to her hips. It pulled at her one moment, pushed her the next. Small skirls of sand whispered around her ankles, cavorting in devilish dances over her feet and up the slope, as if leading her.

Leaning her head down against the bite of the sand against her bare skin and the force of the wind, Leia forged on, climbing steadily higher. The sand shifted treacherously beneath the thin soles of her boots, rolling and sliding as she dug her toes and heels and pushed herself onward.

_I must reach the top…_

And then she was there, the ground abruptly leveling off. So focused was she upon the climb that, once more, Leia nearly stumbled to the ground as the sand betrayed her. She caught herself, staggering upright as she regained her balance, and stepped out onto the crown of the dune.

The wind struck her with the force of a thousand gales, sand erupting in gouts of swirling, spinning clouds. Preternatural twilight plunged through the air, catching and wrapping Leia in its smothering embrace as both the suns were clouded, as the air was filled with the desert's blood.

The sand tore at her flesh. She cried out, head tucked beneath her arms as she felt the tiny, spinning grains of rock and glass rip at her, pierce her—could feel the grit and grime stripping the skin from her bones, leaving only long rivulets of blood and tears behind.

And the wind! It seared her, all the heat of the desert that she had not felt suddenly unleashed upon her battered, broken shell of a body all at once. It thundered on every side, pulling at her arms and legs, pulling at her hair, battering bruises into the already torn and bloody flesh, like iron-bound fists battering against paper.

She could not move. Could not breathe. She could only cower, knees buried in the sand of the dune, face bent toward the ground in a desperate mockery of worship—a desperate, silent, unknown plea for grace. She was choking, the wind binding her mouth, the sand clouding her nose. She could not breathe, could not stand, could not beg, even if she had it within her to do so.

So she did the only thing she could.

She screamed—angry, and terrified, and painedhatefulpleading.

She screamed…

And then suddenly there was silence.

"Oh, my dear, desert child."

There were hands upon her cheeks, warm and soft and kind. Hands that brushed aside the hair that had been torn free of the plait, that wiped away the tears that tumbled, unchecked and unheeded, to water the desert floor.

The woman's voice was as warm as the hands—husky and low, yet infinitely soft. There was a strength to it as well, a deep, ancient wellspring of power, and might, and fortitude, as if the words, when spoken in that rich, foreign tongue were fortresses made of stone and sand and ironglass—as if those words were made of the desert itself.

"Oh, my dear, desert child," the woman's voice said again, "this is not how you should have been welcomed home."

And at last Leia looked up, afraid of what she might see, yet unable to do aught else. The desert did not stand before her as she had thought it might—nor was it some old, twisted phantom of her nightmares, concocted by the fear and horror and disgust that darkened her thoughts, that tainted her flesh and bones and blood where _they _had touched her.

It was, instead, nothing more than a woman, with dark hair that curled about her face where it had pulled free from the bun at the nape of her neck, and dark eyes that seemed to drink the desert's sun. Her clothing was simple, roughly made, with threadbare seams and patches of lighter-colored cloth where skirt or sleeve had been carefully mended.

Just a woman, with soft hands and a soft smile, and the voice of the desert.

The woman's hands came to rest upon the collar.

Suddenly, it felt immensely heavy locked there about her throat, its hard edges burning into her flesh and pressing tight against her throat. She couldn't breathe—but this time it was not the wind that was choking her, but rather something dark and vile and noxious that sought to climb up from her belly, strangling her with its bitter fingers as it clawed through her stomach, tore through her lungs, crawled from her mouth. It was the burn of their eyes, the poison of their grins, the touch of their hands upon her flesh, the scent of them as they reached for her with a hunger that no food or drink could sate. It was mocking, and prideful, and full of lust. Of control. Of domination. Of _ownership._

"Shhhh," the woman crooned, and suddenly there were arms around her, holding her close in a comforting embrace. "It's alright to be afraid."

The voice was different now. Kinder. Lighter. As if the voice now belonged to the woman it came from. Gone was the power and the weight of ancient time, though the strength and the fortitude remained, tempered as they were by the new warmth.

Leia pulled away, shuddering free of the woman's safe embrace. "I am not afraid." The lie came just as easily to Leia's lips as all the rest. (_I'm fine,_ _she promised with a smile. And It will take more than this to break me._)

The other woman smiled, her eyes full of sorrow. "Of course not," she said. "You never are." But her words were quiet, and edged with bitter grief, and Leia knew that this woman knew the truth. "Just remember, dear one, that fear is not a sin."

"But it makes you weak." She would not meet the elder woman's gaze.

Fingers beneath her chin forced Leia to look her. The woman was staring at her intently, dark eyes blazing. "Only if you allow the fear to control you," she said with a quiet, calm ferocity. "Fear will only cripple you if you allow it to take root and sow seeds of despair. Of hatred."

The collar burned, and the black beast in Leia's chest thrashed. "How can I not?" she asked. "How can I _not_ hate them?" Frustration and anger bloodied her words, and her lips writhed back over her teeth in a silent, feral snarl. "How can I accept what they did to me?"

The woman shook her head. "I did not say accept," she chided gently. "I did not even say forgive—though forgiveness will lead to healing. I said do not hate."

Leia blinked. And looked away.

"Oh, my child." The voice was as the desert once more. Despite herself, Leia looked up, searching for the woman. The woman knelt there still, but as Leia gazed upon her, transfixed, it was as if the woman's eyes began to shift, like sand running through a sieve—first to grey, then to beige, then very suddenly to bright, burning gold. "You are a daughter of the desert, and you are born with the desert's wrath. But like flame will you burn, devouring yourself as well as others, unless you can learn to temper the heat. Like the cold of night to the burn of day, so you too must find balance. Fear and courage. Anger and peace. Halves of a whole. And so you must become one—one heart, one mind, one force.

"Do not let yourself be torn asunder as your father once was."

Leia frowned, a sudden spike of (_what? Of terror? Of horror? Of shame?_) apprehension digging into her stomach, wedging into her breast. "What…" she began.

But then the woman—the mother of the desert—spoke again. "Take heart, Leia, oh Walker of the Skies. Your chains will you break, if you remember these words—your shackles will be laid bare. Remember, child, and free yourself."

Then the woman smiled, knelt, and taking Leia's face between her hands, leaned over to kiss her forehead in blessing. "Be free, my daughter," the woman murmured. She stood, and in the instant before she turned away, Leia saw that her eyes were as dark as onyx.

Leia opened her eyes to the hazy dimness of Jabba's underground audience chamber. She bit back a groan as she lifted her head, her entire body aching from the awkward position she had been forced to lay in, unable to move for fear of awakening the monster pressing against her back. She could feel him breathe, slow and deep in his slumber, slick, oily skin sliding across the bare flesh of her back and shoulders, brushing her hip and thigh.

She felt sick, and ruthlessly shoved the thought away, locking that particular sense of feeling deep in the recesses of her mind.

Instead, she turned her thought to what had awoken her. Jabba was still asleep, and there were none approaching the dais. Most were still unconscious, lying where they had collapsed from their drunken revelry earlier that morning—the celebration hosted for "Jabba's Princess" had lasted nigh until dawn.

And then she felt it—familiar, soft and soothing and full of protection, like blue skies and the desert sands. A light, warm and bright (_among her thoughts_) at the door. Her gaze swung to the side, sharp eyes searching the gloom for the man she knew was there.

Then she could hear the footsteps, and the quiet whisper of a voice.

_Be free, my daughter._

And she knew, hope battering against her heart like the restless sands—she knew. Luke had come.

It was nearly time to break her chains.


End file.
